


How To Save a Life

by AnOddSock



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Graphics, Images, Love Stories, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Sastiel Creations Challenge, Songfic, it is the year 2019 and I have written a songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-27 21:56:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20053144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnOddSock/pseuds/AnOddSock
Summary: Castiel had lived the span of many lives before Sam Winchester was born, but with the birth of one person the course of his existence would be forever changed. He had a purpose, was given a reason, and found his own way through to the light.In a slight re-telling of canon, we see what would happen when Castiel was charged to watch over The Boy With The Demon Blood and make sure all of heaven’s plans came to fruition, and what happens when Castiel starts to rebel against that plan.





	How To Save a Life

**Author's Note:**

> Fic written and graphics created for the [Sastiel Creations Challenge](https://sastielcreationschallenge.tumblr.com/) 8th round, my prompt was the song How to Save a Live by The Fray
> 
> There probably isn't a straight line to explain how I got from the song lyrics to the fic below, but listening to it was what inspired this, and I dropped a few lines from the song hither and thither as I went. The basic premise is... what if Castiel had saved Sam's life a bunch of times because he was told to, and in the end he realised he didn't know how to save a life because it was the right thing to do rather than an order, and he had to learn to give Sam the space to be his own person... and so on... no spoilers ;)  
Enjoy!

Pre-season 1

Castiel was given many charges to watch over. Many instructions to carry out. He followed them all without question. He did his duty. He gave his care. He saved lives where it was important. He took lives, when it was necessary.

Some lives, he saved more than once.

None more-so than Sam Winchester.

The child destined for the devil. The boy with the demon blood. His life, counted so highly important amongst all others, and also reviled and desecrated. This boy’s life he saved countless times.

Stop the truck that would have run him down. Break the fall. Hinder the monster. All these things and more he did, time after time. Give the boy every chance, stack all odds in his favour, never let him lose, keep him fighting.

_Keep him alive._

Keep him angry, too, under fire, always under duress. Castiel could not just remove him to a place of safety, to grow and change and live; he was to suffer, so that he was primed for the taking, when the time came.

Over and over it happened. And always, he forgot. Often mourning for the trials the boy was put through, the hurt that ran so deep in him while he tried so hard to be good and right — Castiel defied orders by asking questions, wondering if it was really necessary.

And so, always, they tore the memory from him. It had to look natural, the boy’s ascension to power. No interference, no pointing finger leading back to heaven. They were not to be involved. Castiel could not know what he was doing; he was complicit, but never knowing in what.

He shadowed the boy until he grew to manhood, and by then the pieces were already set in motion.

And Castiel’s will was dry and shrivelled, shrunken with each thing he was not allowed to hold on to.

* * *

Season 4

Castiel was sent out for the Winchester’s once again, save the older one from the bowels of hell (but not too soon, never too soon, not before he was broken. Not before portents came to pass.). It was a hard task, thankless, full of loss and he was glad when it was done, when it was over. It put him in the line of fire, in the enemies sights, and he held the hunter close and looked over him with a watchful eye until he emerged into the sunlight.

This brother of the man so important. The other half of the puzzle. The other part of Castiel’s beginning — for he could not really have begun to _be_, truly, unless he had deviated from his given path.

Castiel wondered if he would not have been more use on earth, watching over the one who always seemed so familiar. For when he returned from his mission to discover the younger under the sway of demon blood, he found he had been sent away, removed, at a time when the boy could have most needed guidance. He had been cut from the picture, so the boy could be twisted into the tool needed to bring plans to fruition.

He had been corrupted, led towards his own destruction, so that heaven’s will would in turn be realised.

Castiel railed against it, raging and lost in the despair of it. It seemed wrong, evil. He was not supposed to be a cog in the wheel of evil and nor, did it seem to him, was Sam Winchester.  
They took his memory again, and he forgot that he ever cared for the boy he had watched, and loved, and protected. Until they were naught but strangers once more.

Finally, when he introduced himself and they met as two beings ought to, it was without any deeper meaning to him. Castiel couldn’t — or wouldn’t, for he hadn’t yet learned how to disobey, or think for himself— purge the man of the sickness that fuelled his power, it wasn’t given as an order, so all he could do was pass along vague warnings and troubled messages.

All he could do was pass judgement, and wonder where it all might lead.

Still, then on, he followed orders. Still, he kept watch and steered the brothers where his leaders instructed. He grew to like them, grew to trust, and they in turn grew dependant on his help. It shook something loose inside him and he gravitated ever further into their orbit.

One he felt bonded too, a connection forged on the flight from the enemy. A kindred feeling, both steadfast, both sure. Warriors both, fighters born into the fray and still kicking, always pushing back.

But the other… the other was a bright light, a quick smile. A kindness. Trusting. Curious. Never judging, rarely swift to anger, always welcoming. He felt like home, he shone and shifted in a way Castiel almost felt like he recognised. A sense of his self from long past, but better, _more_; so much more than his superiors would have him believe.

Sam was who he grew to vow he would never betray. Sam who had been hurt, tormented, defiled, all because the heavens wanted their war. Sam who may never have lived to see manhood without Cas’s interference, but would also never have known such fear, never known his fate’s purpose, and never been wounded so.

And this, Cas realised, was free will. More and more Sam and Dean taught him to listen to his own thoughts and know his own mind. And never more-so did he wish he had, then when he released Sam from his forced detoxing, so he could hurry and be the one to kill Lilith — and free Lucifer. The most wretched thing he had done, and he would take it back in a turn of the earth if he could. He would undo it, and let them make their own choices. Let Sam and Dean clear the path and light the way.

The guilt it weighed on Sam was immense, powerful, more powerful even than the drug that had filled him with such capabilities. And there was nothing to be done but watch him endure it.

* * *

Season 5

Cas abandoned his post, not long later. Left his host and home, and turned to other means of safety. He watched all the long year as doom crept ever closer and Sam’s light only dimmed, but did not go out. His own light strove to match it, to be as clear and as true. Sam, it seemed, used his brother as a measuring post of goodness, time and again; and so Cas followed suit, hoping to be worthy enough to be noticed.

And he was seen, for all that he was, and appreciated too for all he could do. An ally. A friend.

A traitor some would say, a leech on the gifts of heaven. But neither brother said anything of it, welcoming him into their fold like he deserved a place there.

Even with all he could do to keep them safe from prying eyes, to guide them and save them, Sam still fell, in the end. Took his destiny in his own hands and ran away with it. Cas had fallen too, by then, with no way to return to the life he had known. He took his refuge with the older, with Dean, after the worst had both been realised and failed to come to pass; when heavens plan had failed and yet still brought unimaginable loss.  
Dean who never wavered, always believing. Dean who had called him family. Dean who had lost everything, when Sam had given all he had to save the world.

Cas knew then he would not let it stand, would not let it be the end. He’d gone looking, he’d found a way. He found Sam. Pulled him up, and out, and free. It was with great dismay he learned later that he had failed again, leaving Sam desolate and abandoned to torture. Leaving Dean to be the saviour once again. He loathed that he had caused extra pain and anguish, for them both, but especially for Sam.

Sam, who he loved without knowing that he did so. Sam who he had watched for his entire life, guiding and pushing the pieces into place. Sam who would be free now, if Cas could will it.

* * *

Season 6 &7

Even that promise he could not keep forever. Even that most simple of ideals he warped in his quest to save lives. Sam’s life — that he had saved again and again even without knowing who he was — he decimated with one touch, when it suited him.

He tore Sam’s soul in two, ripped a ruinous scar down the centre, all so he could have his own way.

In the end, it seemed, he was no different than heaven. In the end, Sam became just another piece on the board to him. It was a desperate act, and one he regretted the moment he had the heart to realise what he’d done. Regrets did not bring him any relief, and Sam’s softness as he endured the horror of it only made it worse.

He died a death brought about by his own hand, admitted to everything, knowing it wouldn’t matter as nothing would ever be the same. He deserved to be a casualty in his own war, he believed that, seeing his folly, accepting all the fear and all the blame.

Upon finding himself once more in the world, bewildered and looking for purpose, he did what he hoped was enough. He took Sam’s memories, the echoes of pain that ricocheted through a glowing soul, taking all the scars and wounds on his own shoulders in an attempt to make it right. It wasn’t enough, but penance felt good, and Sam looked lighter for it. And really, that’s all that mattered. He knew where he’d gone wrong, knew he had no-one else to blame for his bitter descent into madness and oblivion.

With Sam’s pain disguising his own, he languished in a blind tunnel of scattered thoughts, lost to himself and his friends. He lost the road and was glad for it, breaking from the ones he followed felt right, when he had brought them so far astray. Long months he hid away with simple wants and needs, shying away from anything more.

When he was himself again, when all had been put right (or as near as the Winchester’s could make it) he pulled back. Pulled away. Too often had he hurt this man. Too often had he been the cause of undue and undeserved suffering.

And again, he said no more. _No more._

And he held his love at arms length, never daring to touch it, to examine its depths. It was wrong to love a charge so, even one who now counted him an equal. There was no guessing within his mind where that love had come from, he only knew that it existed, and it shouldn’t. Only knew that he wasn’t worthy of it, and wouldn’t act on it.

Forgiveness came to him, as it always seemed to with the brothers he was bound to. Sam, always, telling him he was free of what had come before.

Cas didn’t feel free. He felt burdened all the more by Sam’s willing forgiveness, by his second (third, fourth, many countless times so) chances.

“You’re one of us,” Sam seemed to say. “You belong.”

Dean told him too, that he was needed, that he was there for them — if he’d just do his part.

So he did; he did everything, and he gave all, and he took none.

Always happy to bleed for the Winchesters, through destruction and death.

* * *

  
Season 9

Years — eons it felt — after their first meeting, after Castiel’s first encounter with the man as a boy, they stood in a dim room. And Sam gave his trust again, but his heart was so black, his thoughts grievously injured. He willed his own death, he didn’t even mourn over the idea of being lost. He wanted to give all of himself, again. Over and over.

_No more. Nothing is worth losing him._

Cas refused.

He took heed of his own will and he stopped. He stopped holding back the dam.

He healed Sam, bright white light, bright clear deliverance. He forced his own grace inside Sam’s body to right the wrongs, root out the sickness.

And when soul and grace met, they sang. They joined.

Every single memory, every single time Cas had done the deed and sheltered, protected, and soothed the boy and then the man. It came to them both in a rush. Everything revealed to them both in a sudden flash and Cas… Cas faltered.

“Cas? What was that?”

“I… I’m not sure.”

“Those memories, were they yours?”

“...yes, I’m sorry, you shouldn’t have to-”

“Those things were real, that really happened?”

He worried Sam would be angry. Furious. He’d seen so much. Every awful act, every evil deed, every misstep and folly. Every hurt.

“You knew me as a child?” Sam asked softly.

“Apparently, I don’t... there is much I have been barred from knowing— from remembering. This isn’t... this has never happened before.”

“You watched over me, I never knew.”

“Nor, it seems, did I in the end. Once my memories were altered.” Cas rued it, loathed it. It would have made all his life with Sam makes sense, if he’d known each step along the path.

“I can’t believe,” Sam said, a note of wonder in his eyes. “You had faith in me, before anyone? Despite… everything?”

“Heaven’s plans for you never felt right, but I was… I was not permitted to know them, or to free you from them.”

“I saw.”

“I’m sorry that… for this, you shouldn’t be burdened with my failures.”

“Not just failures, Cas. Love. You loved me. You do love me?”

“It is not of import.”

Sam snorted. Derision. “I think I’ll be the judge of that.”

And there, again, the forgiveness. The rightness. The soft and loyal touch. The steady hand, the bright soul, the kind eyes. And longing, maybe, a breathing out of tension. A bleeding away of barriers.

And here, again, Cas broke from chains — but chains he’d placed around himself. He would save this life again, he promised, over and over, at his own will, against the roar of the crowding universe, if only so he could be free to love it more.


End file.
